


How To Get Away With Fostering

by FarAwayInWonderland



Category: How to Get Away with Murder, Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Foster Care, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kid Fic, M/M, Miscarriage, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13616001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarAwayInWonderland/pseuds/FarAwayInWonderland
Summary: Annalise looked at the small boy in front of her with his dishevelled blond hair and bright blue eyes that were still shining with something akin to hope and thought about how if the roles were reversed – if her child had lived and was now standing in front of a woman he didn’t know – she would have given everything just so that this stranger would take her child´s tiny hand in his and lead him out of this hell made of overworked case workers and uncaring foster parents.OR:The crossover I always wanted to write in which the Keatons raise one Mike Ross.





	How To Get Away With Fostering

**Author's Note:**

> The new episodes of HTGAWM and the Marvey group chat inspired me to write this. Originally, I only wanted to write a few scenes, but then it kinda mutated to this 10k words monster *shrugs*
> 
> Things I know nothing about: law, fostering, time lines
> 
> Things I know much about: the lyrics of all The Greates Showman songs
> 
> This was written just for fun; please don´t expect the time lines to match (the Suits time line is a hot mess, anyway). Also, everything not explicitly mentioned probably happens in the background. This was finished and posted at 23:23 and is not beta-read.

Death was a kindness that no one saw fit to bestow upon her.

Every morning when the sunlight streamed through the half-closed blinds and plunged their bedroom into a semi-state between day and night Annalise hated herself for still being alive. She hated how the sun still continued to rise anew every day, she hated how Sam´s radio alarm would start blaring much too cheerful rock music every morning, hated how sometimes even the birds outside would dare to chirp as if they had the right to be happy.

But most of all, she hated the silence that came before all of that. That oppressing absence of noise that hung over the room like an invisible blanket, trying to suffocate her with the memories of what could have been. Reminded her of what its presence meant; reminded her of the presence that was missing in her life, reminded her of all that she had lost.

Annalise didn’t try to kill herself, again, though. It hadn’t taken the first time, prevented by Bonny. Dependable, loyal, naïve Bonny who loved her for making her feel like she mattered and loved Sam even more for making her feel like a woman.

But, no, every morning when Annalise opened the bathroom cabinet and saw the row of drugs she scrambled up the last bit of strength she possessed and closed it again, splashing her face with cold water that just wasn’t cold enough to freeze the emotions inside her to death.

She would go through the motions: Eating, smiling at Sam while he read the Washington Post, giving her lectures and acting as if she cared about the insignificant troubles that ailed the students. Sometimes she wanted to scream at them, about how they should just be glad that they could be here, thread the hallways of the university – how glad they should be that they even had a future, even if it was just sweeping floors or driving taxis, because even that had been denied to her own son.

Annalise was good at faking it. No one noticed the emptiness that lurked behind her eyes, the hollowness of her voice whenever she spoke or how she sometimes held her breath until the edges of her vision became black, just to prove to herself that she still controlled her body. That it was still her own.

She still won most of her cases. She should write a book – maybe call it ‘How To Get Away With Murder’ or something similar – about how brittle, corrupt and biased their justice system was. But that would mean that she cared, but she didn’t.

“I feel like I´m losing you,” Sam whispered to her as they laid in bed, his arms wrapped around her. “I feel like you´re going to a place I can´t follow you.”

“You aren´t losing me,” Annalise lied. She was losing herself. In the hate, the grief, the loneliness. And she knew that Sam knew, too. But luckily Sam just pressed her harder against himself and didn’t talk any further.

Annalise assumed that after that they had both resigned themselves to the slow but certain deterioration of their relationship. That, like her, Sam was now just going through the motions until the last bit of affection that existed between was extinguished. Until someone new, someone better came along and freed him from the shackles that she had tied around him.

But she was wrong. One day she came back from a long day lecturing another bunch of overprivileged, spoiled children and Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of flyers and brochures covering the table in front of him.

“What´s all that?” Annalise wanted to know as she put her bag on the dresser next to the door.

“It´s an attempt at saving our marriage,” Sam replied. Annalise took on the flyers and scoffed at it.

“Fostering?” she spat out. “You think taking in some stranger´s child will suddenly make everything better? That it could replace the child we lost? If you think that you are more deluded than I thought you actually were.”

“I think you need something to live for again,” Sam replied calmly, not in the last moved by her outburst. “And obviously I´m not enough. But maybe that´ll do.”

“So that´s your pitch?” Annalise exclaimed. “You want us to foster a child in order to save our marriage. How noble. Do you even care about the possible child that would be thrown into this mess?”

“I do,” Sam replied resolutely. “And, obviously, it wouldn’t be now. No sane social worker would let us foster a child, but maybe in a few months…”

“I don´t need someone else´s child!” Annalise screamed, the first tears running down her cheeks. “I need my child! My son!”

“Annalise…” Sam tried to calm her down, but after all this time of numbness the anger that now surged through her body felt refreshing and right. It made her feel a little bit more alive.

“Have you already forgotten him, Sam?” she spat at him. “Are you already looking for a replacement?” Sam clenched his jaw, but otherwise he didn’t react as Annalise dished out her abuse. At the back of her mind she knew that what she was accusing her husband of was false – that he had grieved in his own way – but she couldn’t hold it back. Hurtful words had ever been her most effective weapons.

“I think it´d be the best if I stayed at Justin´s for the night,” Sam spoke quietly as he stood up and took his jacket from the wardrobe.

“Yeah, do that!” Annalise shouted after him. “Run away, like you always do!” The door shut close and Annalise was left standing behind as silence descended upon the house. Still crying she turned around, trying not to look at the table with all the pamphlets covering it. Never has the temptation to just open the cupboard right in front of her and pour herself a drink been greater, but shame stayed Annalise´s hand.

If she got drunk now, she would turn into the broken mess that she had convinced everyone she was not. It would prove that her will wasn’t strong enough to withstand the temptation of the liquids that were hidden behind the wooden cupboard doors.

Annalise wasn’t weak. She had spent her whole life proving it to herself and the world. She had promised herself that she would never be weak again.

She would not be weak now. Could not.

So, she poured herself a glass of water from the tap and sat down at the table, still refusing to look at its surface, just staring through the file room into her living room. She wondered if she had finally done it; if this had been the final blow that would push Sam away forever. Somehow that thought sent a jolt of pain through her heart.

Annalise loved her husband. And she was sure that Sam loved her, too, and the child they had lost. But sometimes love wasn’t enough, didn’t heal wounds so deep that the blood would never stop gushing.

And as she sat there, alone and in silence, Annalise had to ask herself the question if she wanted to save their relationship or if she let everything continue as it was now; a car crash in slow motion. And furthermore, she realised that she didn’t want to lose Sam. She didn’t want to lose what they had.

Taking a deep breath, Annalise picked up one of the pamphlets and started to read.

* * *

“I´m not willing to give up on us, yet,” she told Sam when he came back the next day. “I want to fight for us.” She could see the relief in Sam´s eyes at her proclamation. “But Sam, I just don´t think that fostering is the right way to go.”

“It´d give us the chance to take care of a child without going through –“ _the stress, the fear, the miscarriages_ “- the same ordeals as before.”

“Neither of us is in the right emotional state to take care of a child, even temporarily,” Annalise retorted. “Maybe in the future, but not now. We have to take care of ourselves first.”

“And how do we do that?” Sam asked.

“We go to a therapist,” Annalise replied. “I know that neither of us is a big fan of that, but, Sam, between us there´s so many unhealthy shit that it could fill a while psychology lecture of yours. We can´t get rid of it by ourselves.” Sam remained silent as he contemplated Annalise´s words.

“Alright,” Sam conceded. “If you´re willing to fight for us, then I´ll be there, too.”

* * *

It was not easy, by any means. Annalise usual method of coping was to take it all in and throw it at the target of her ire when she finally exploded. Sam did something similar, allowing it all to fester inside of him until all of his hurt turned into rage and resentment.

It was their first weak point their therapist – a elderly, no-nonsense woman of around sixty-years – started to prey upon. There was a lot of shouting and accusing involved – both at their therapist´s office and at home – and also a lot of crying (from Annalise) and broken glass (Sam). But like a purulent wound you first had to remove the poison before you could start with the healing. After every session Annalise felt raw, exposed and vulnerable, but after a while it seemed to work.

The atmosphere between her and Sam felt less tense, less toxic, the whole house seemed less subdued and more welcoming. The mornings where Annalise woke up and hated herself for living became less and less, the span between them growing bigger and bigger.

Even Bonnie and Frank commented on it.

“You seem happier,” her assistant had remarked on their way to court. “Like the sky has cleared above you.”

“You´re getting quite philosophical on me,” Annalise had replied. Bonnie had just shrugged.

“I can´t believe therapy actually works,” had been Frank´s comment. Annalise had just raised her eyebrows at him.

“What,” Frank had shrugged. “Ain´t never seen it working when I was in prison – especially in prison.”

There were times when they relapsed and all of it was about to crash down on them, collapsing like a house of cards. When Annalise walked past something that reminded her of the son she would never see to grow up and had a mental break-down right there until Sam came by and took her back home. When Sam accidently opened the box with the baby stuff they had pre-emptively bought and tore it all apart in a fit of rage until Annalise put her hand on his shoulder as he shed the tears that hadn’t flowed until now.

It was difficult, it was scary, but slowly and surely they clawed their way out of the hell that they had imprisoned themselves in.

And one day Annalise suddenly felt like she could breathe again.

She hadn’t brought up the topic of fostering again and neither had Sam. Annalise still felt like taking in another child would be a betrayal of her dead son´s memories. She didn’t want to replace him with someone else – that wouldn’t be fair to him or to the unfortunate child that would be chosen as a stand-in.

Maybe Sam had meant well by suggesting it, but Annalise didn’t believe that they should take care of a child as they were now. Maybe never (again).

* * *

It was a trial that made her change her opinion: A foster father who had abused the children under his care. Not sexually, just beatings and beltings, as if there were different levels of abuse that deserved differentiation. Abuse was abuse and it was horrible in all of its facets. Annalise was representing a mother whose child had been taken by the state because according to their expertise she hadn’t been able to take care of it properly. And now she demanded justice for the suffering her child had suffered under the state´s care.

“I really wasn´t able to take proper care back then,” the mother had admitted. “I had hoped that he would be given to foster parents that would take good care of him until I could again. What I would have given for a loving foster family.”

Annalise got her client a huge sum out of it, relishing in demolishing the abhorrent foster father who claimed it had been just strict upbringing gone a little bit wrong. Her client had cried and thanked her with shaking hands, telling her that she would use the money to get her son out of the poverty she had grown up in.

“He won´t have the life I did,” she had told Annalise resolutely. “He´ll have it better and one day his children will, too.” And Annalise believed her.

When she came back home that day she opened the drawer in which she had stuffed all of Sam´s pamphlets and began to read.

“I want to do it,” Annalise proclaimed as she banged the pamphlet on Sam´s table behind which the man himself sat and looked at her with confusion.

“What changed your mind?” he wanted to know.

“It´s not just about us,” Annalise replied. “It´s also about those children. Children that have no one who´s in their corner. I know that we´re not perfect, but we´re a whole lot better than ninety percent of the parents I come in contact with at work.”

“And what about your other reservations?” Sam just wouldn’t let go of it, but if it was Annalise in his shoes she wouldn’t have either. This was a big decision you just didn’t make on a whim.

“I will always miss him,” she replied, trying to keep her composure as it was often the case when the topic of their dead son was brought up. “And there´ll always be a whole in my heart where he should be, but if…if it was the other way around I would want someone like us to take care of him instead of the people I see in court.” She swallowed. “We´re good people now.”

She took Sam´s hand and squeezed it.

“If you´re sure,” he said with a smile on his face. “Then let´s do this. Let´s give a child a home.”

* * *

The building that housed the children that had yet to find a foster family to take them in was in the suburbs of Philadelphia; a small street that saw little traffic and was framed by lush trees that gave the whole part of town a New England like character.

It had taken them several months as well as several visits by social workers and examination by two different psychologists before they were cleared to become foster parents. The Department of Human Services had tried to deny them their application on the ground of both Bonnie and Frank not deemed ‘suitable’ to be around children for which Annalise had threatened to sue them into oblivion after which they had caved in.

Maybe not the start of the most constructive working relationships, but honestly Annalise couldn’t care less. Their social worker – a young, still idealistic woman by the name of Sandra – was in their corner and that was all they needed anyway. Speaking of which, Sandra was already waiting in front of the building, a bright smile on her face and waving at them the moment she saw their car pull up.

“Annalise,” she greeted her and gave her a brief hug as if they were the best friend. Annalise had long accepted her overly tactile behaviour. “Sam!” Her husband received a hug as well. It looked quite funny how her mountain of a husband was engulfed by the petite social worker.

“So glad you could make it.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sam replied with his most charming smile on his face.

“Follow me!” Sandra led them up the stairs into the foyer of the building where they had to write their name into a guestbook before they could proceed.

“We didn’t explicitly tell the children that you were coming,” Sandra chattered as she led them through the hallways. “We don´t want to raise their hopes up only for them to be disappointed. They´re all in the playroom right now, so it´d be the best if you just go in and interact with them a little. Get to know them and then if you agree on one child and said child would be also willing to go with you, you´ll officially be foster parents.” She opened the door and beckoned for them to enter.

The ‘playroom’ was, as its name so aptly put it, full of toys and other stuff with which the children could play with. There was a doll house, wooden swords, Lego, stuffed animals and between all of them the children ran around, laughing out loud and screaming. Annalise counted around ten children, boys and girls of all ancestry: Asian, African, Caucasian and Hispanic.

“Hey everyone,” Sandra exclaimed. “This is Annalise and Sam. They´re new foster parents and want to get to know you, so behave, will you?” All children nodded with serious expressions on their faces, but then as if they had gotten an invisible sign they went back to their activities and ignored the adults again.

“Usually there are more children,” Sandra explained. “But at the moment we´ve got more foster parents than usual so most of them don’t live here anymore. Maybe you want to walk around and talk to them?” Annalise nodded.

Now that she was finally her, the task in front her suddenly felt a lot more daunting than it had before. Up until now fostering a child had only been a theoretical exercise, something that belonged in the realm of the future, but standing here and seeing all these children who were waiting for a family to take them made it suddenly all the more real. Only now did the gravity of the situation truly sink in.

But Annalise wouldn’t back down now. She had pulled herself out of the darkest place she had ever been in just to be here and she wouldn’t let some figments of her imagination break her resolve.

Sam grasped her hand and squeezed it and when she looked at him he gave her a reassuring smile. It put some of the pressure off her shoulders.

“Let´s do this,” he whispered to her and Annalise nodded. She looked around the room and wondered which of the children would be the best fit for them. One of the two girls playing with the doll house? Annalise was unsure about girls, though; she didn’t think that she could be a good role model for them. So she kept letting her gaze wander over the room until she saw a boy standing in the corner of the room, watching the other children play with some sort of longing in his eyes. But it seemed that he didn’t dare to partake in their games, hiding in the shadows, too afraid to step out of them.

He seemed to be used to being overlooked.  

Coming to a decision, Annalise walked over the other side of the room until she stood in front of the boy, neither of them saying anything as they regarded each other.

Annalise looked at the small boy in front of her with his dishevelled blond hair and bright blue eyes that were still shining with something akin to hope and thought about how if the roles were reversed – if her child had lived and was now standing in front of a woman he didn’t know – she would have given everything just so that this stranger would take her child´s tiny hand in his and lead him out of this hell made of overworked case workers and uncaring foster parents.

She wondered if the boy´s mother was watching them right now, hoping that she would take the boy and the stuffed teddy bear he was clutching in his right hand out of here to somewhere he would have the chance of just being a child. She wondered if her son would have had the same chance.

She took a few steps forward until she stood in front of the boy. He looked up to her, a mixture of hope and uncertainty on his face. She bent down until her face was on the same height as his.

“What´s your name?” she asked the boy.

“Mike,” he answered, his voice barely audible. “My name´s Mike.”

“Hello Mike,” Annalise greeted him. “I´m Annalise.” She held out her hand and timidly he took it. She always thought that children were more likely to trust and accept you when you didn’t infantilise them, but instead acted like they could make their own decision.

“Are you going to take me away from here?” Mike asked, nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

“We´ll see about that,” Annalise replied, her year-long lawyer practice not allowing her to give a definite answer. “I have to talk with my husband about it.” She pointed towards Sam who was standing on the other side of the room and was talking with Sandra.

“You probably won´t,” Mike mumbled.

“Why´s that?” Annalise wanted to know.

“Adults don´t want smart children,” Mike told her with the conviction of someone with experience. “They want kids they can dot on and play with, not kids that like reading more than sports.”

“Well, I can´t speak for every adult out there,” Annalise spoke. “But I have nothing against smart children.” She lowered her voice. “To be honest, I think I need a more independent minded child.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam was suddenly standing next to her, his hand on her shoulder as he looked down on them.

“Sam, this is Mike,” Annalise introduced them. “And Mike this is my husband Sam. Why don´t you tell him a little bit about yourself while I talk to Sandra, mmh?” Mike nodded and turned towards Sam while Annalise stood up (her aching knees were thanking her for it) and walked towards Sandra.

“It seems that you and Mike got along quite well,” the social worker commented.

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Annalise replied, her lawyer mask back in place. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Well, he´s been here for half-a-year,” Sandra told her. “His parents died in a car crash and he´s been living with his grandmother ever since until she, too, passed away – pneumonia, I think. He´s got no family left, so he came here.”

“Have there been previous foster parents?” Annalise wanted to know.

“Two attempts,” Sandra replied. “But sadly, they didn’t work out.”

“Why?” Annalise asked.

“Mike´s got an eidetic memory,” Sandra answered her. “He remembers literally everything. Those parents weren’t expecting an eight-year-old who was already smarter than they were. They couldn’t really handle it.”

“That´s no reason to return a child like a piece of clothing to the mall,” Annalise spoke vehemently.

“No, it isn’t,” Sandra agreed. “But Ms Keating, as lawyer you probably know from your cases that the resentment such arrangement would have fostered wouldn’t have led to a very positive outcome, either.” There was nothing Annalise could say to that, because the social worker was right: She had seen first-hand what resentment could do to people. The husband who hit his wife for being more successful than him; the siblings that couldn’t even meet without a lawyer present because one of them was more intelligent than the other. So maybe it had been better that those foster parents had acknowledged that they were not able to provide the right care for a child with special needs.

They would never know.

“I do think, though, that you and your husband would be able to provide the right environment for a child like Mike,” Sandra remarked. “You are a very intellectual household after all.”  

“Being intellectual doesn’t make one a good parenting choice,” Annalise pointed out. She watched Sam and Mike, the former intensely listening to what the latter was telling him with animated hand gestures.

“I think you have that covered, too,” Sandra replied.

* * *

Mike could barely believe it: Someone had decided to foster him!

Unlike the other children he knew the difference between adoption and fostering. He had read it in a book and had asked a social worker about the words he didn’t understand. That didn’t mean, though, that it had hurt any less when his former foster parents had given him back after only a few weeks.

‘Freak,’ Martin, the second father, had muttered to him. Mike had never told anyone, because what if they believed it, too and would just agree with him? But Annalise and Sam didn’t look like they would call Mike a freak ( _Martin and Susan hadn’t either,_ a traitorous voice whispered in his head) and now as he was standing in front of their house he could barely believe his eyes.

It was huge! Even bigger than Grammy´s house had been or his parent´s house. It looked really old, too, but in a nice and cosy kind of way. A sign in front of it told Mike that this was ‘The Law Office of Annalise Keating – Criminal Defence Attorney’. How cool was that? Annalise was a lawyer!

Sam opened the front door and let them in.

“So, Mike, this is gonna be your home for the foreseeable future,” he told him. Mike craned his neck to get a look at the rooms that laid behind the hallway: He could make out a kitchen at the far end of the floor and a living room right through the door left of him.

“Do you want to see your room?” Sam asked. Mike nodded. “I´ll show you while Annalise gets everything down here in order. We didn’t really clean everything up.” He scratched the back of his head.

“I don’t always clean, either,” Mike admitted.

“See, there´s already two of us,” Sam laughed. “Let´s go.” He took the stairs and Mike followed him.

“Over there´s the bathroom and here´s our bedroom.” He pointed at a closed door. “We ask of you that you only go in there in an absolute emergency, understood?” Mike nodded. “And here´s your room.” He walked to the end of the hallway and opened the door. Holding his breath in anticipation Mike followed him and entered the room.

The first thing Mike noticed was that the room was bigger than the room he had lived in back at the orphanage (which he also had had to share with Marc and Thomas) and that there was a big window from which he could look out onto the street. The walls were painted in a light green colour and there was a bed, a desk and a wardrobe standing at each wall.

“We didn’t do much with the room,” Sam admitted. “We thought that whoever got to live in it should make the design decisions. So, if you want another colour on the walls or something…”

“It´s alright,” Mike replied, smiling at Sam hesitantly. It would never be the room he had had with his parents or Granny, but it was way better than the room at the orphanage or the rooms he had had with his two other foster families.

He wouldn’t ask them to change anything. He needed to see first if Annalise and Sam were even going to keep him or if they just handed him back once they got to know his ‘freaky’ memory. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn’t make himself at home here, before he didn’t know those two people who had decided to take care of him better.

“Are there other kids here?” Mike asked. Something undecipherable flashed over Sam´s face, something Mike couldn’t quite classify.

“No,” Sam replied, his voice heavy. “Not in this house. There are a few children living around here and a few streets over there´s a playground.” Silence settled over them as both Mike and Sam seemed to be lost in thoughts.

Even though it had only been a little bit more than half a year ago, the part of Mike´s life where he had lived with his family seemed so distant as it if it had been lived by a complete different person. Mike would never – was actually physically unable to – forget his parents or his grandmother who had loved him with all of their hearts and who he had loved with all of his, too. But grief, hurt and exhaustion had taken their toll on his memories, burnished their edges and faded their brilliance, like old photographs. On the contrast all of this – the orphanage and the fostering – seemed so much realer, so much sharper to him.

Only time could tell if this was something good or bad. Time and experience.

“Come on, let me show you the rest of the house,” Sam interrupted his musings. “Annalise should be finished with locking away all of her sensitive documents by now.” Mike nodded and followed the man back downstairs where Annalise was standing in the kitchen, sipping from a glass of water.

“Do you want a cookie?” she offered, pointing at the table with the pastries on it. Mike nodded earnestly and snatched one from the plate after she pushed it towards him.

“You´re a lawyer?” Mike asked between bites.

“I am,” Annalise confirmed.

“So you´re smart?” Annalise threw her head back and let out a laugh.

“I like to think I am,” she replied. “I win most of my cases, so it´s either that or my opponents are less smart than I am.” Mike nodded. He turned towards Sam.

“And you?”

“I´m a professor for psychology,” Sam answered.

“So, you´re smart, too?”

“Well, the degree on my office wall certainly says so,” Sam replied, laughing.

“In this house we value smarts,” Annalise added as if she knew what Mike was really asking about. _Do you accept that I am different? Do you accept that I am more intelligent than children my age usually are? Do you accept me?_ And Mike had the feeling that maybe this time he would actually find acceptance.

* * *

  **Bonnie**

* * *

Mike met Bonnie four weeks into his stay with the Keatons.

It was weird to think that he had been with Annalise and Sam for four weeks already. It had been tense at the beginning; how else should it have been with three people that didn’t really know each other? There had been times when Mike had contemplated just running away because he had missed his parents and grandmother so much, especially after he had gotten in fights with Annalise.

Sam was more easy-going, but also more distant due to his long work hours and general character, while Annalise and Mike had bonded over their love for the written word. If Mike had problems he would first turn to Annalise before anyone else, and that, in return, made any bad blood between them even more emotionally charged than it would be otherwise. But in the end, they always made up.

Annalise and Sam never replaced his parents and Mike knew that he never took the place their dead son would have had had he lived. He referred to them as ‘Annalise’ and ‘Sam’ while Mike was their ‘foster-son’. Neither of them minded, really, because the position of parents and son were already occupied by the people that had long passed from this world, but maybe that was also what made them fit together as they were: None of them tried to fulfil a role they weren’t meant for.

But Mike really liked living with the Keatons: Annalise allowed him to read all of her books, even though he didn’t understand half of them. She patiently explained him the things she was working on in a way that even he as an eight-year-old could understand. Sometimes he was even allowed to help her, even though it were only small things, like search for something in a book. It nevertheless made Mike feel useful and needed and for that he was thankful.

Sam was different: He tried to get Mike into sports, but unlike his previous foster fathers he stopped once Mike made clear that he wasn’t really interested in that. Instead, they bonded over boats, which surprised even Mike. Sam was a real enthusiast and had a whole collection of those miniature boats on the attic. When he showed them Mike he couldn’t felt a little bit awed and when he started to read a little about it, he couldn’t help but feel more interested, too. Sometimes they would go to the harbour, watch boats and eat too much sweets. Those were Mike´s favourite days.

Anyway, the first time he met Bonnie the woman was crying. In front of Annalise.

“You need to be more convincing,” his foster-mother coached the blonde woman. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Do you know how difficult it is to fake-cry?” Bonnie retorted. Then she started to sob again and – in Mike´s opinion at least – looked very convincing doing it. It was then that Bonnie noticed Mike standing on the stairs.

“Oh, you must be Mike. Annalise has told me about you,” she told him.

“You must be Bonnie, then,” Mike concluded as he took the last few steps and joined the two women in the living room. “Why do you need to fake-cry?”

“To manipulate a pharmacist into admitting that he´s scamming his clients,” Annalise answered. “Which he won´t if you don´t do better.” Bonnie rolled her eyes.

“Any tips on that whole crying thing?” she asked, turning towards Mike.

“Don´t sob so much,” he advised. “Just tears running down your cheeks is more convincing and conveys accusation as much as desperations.”

“He really is quite smart,” Bonnie remarked, smiling at him.

* * *

  **Frank**

* * *

“You don´t look like a murderer.”

The atmosphere around Mike became so tense that you could have cut through it with a knife. Oblivious to it, Mike continued to eat his salad (which he was forced to eat because otherwise there wouldn’t be any sweets). They were all placed around the table – Bonnie to his left and the Keatings to his right – while Frank sat opposite of him.

Apparently, it was a kind of ritual in the Keating household to have dinner together at least once a week. Until now that had consisted of Mike, Annalise and Sam and Bonnie because Frank had been away on some business for Annalise.

Today, though, was the first time Mike would meet Frank and he couldn’t help but blurting out the first thing that had come to his mind. He wasn’t supposed to know about Frank, but he kinda had read a few newspaper clippings that you could find all over the house.

“Mike,” Annalise hissed while Sam tried to stifle his laughter. Bonnie just looked like she would rather be anywhere else but here.

“Attempted murder,” Frank corrected him. “It didn’t stick.” Now Annalise´s ire was directed at him. “How do you reckon a murder would look like?”

“I dunno,” Mike shrugged. “More menacing? A certain aura of evil around him? You just look like a puppy someone forgot to shave for a very long time.” Now Annalise´s head whipped back towards him. “Why did you even try to run your father over? Why not try something less overt?”

“I didn’t put much thought into it at the time,” Frank replied without missing a beat. “Next time I consult you, alright?”

“That´s enough!” Annalise interrupted them. “No talk about murder at the kitchen table!”

“Yes,” Mike and Frank mumbled simultaneously.

“You´re a weird kid,” Frank spoke. Mike just shrugged.

“Can´t help it,” he replied.

“Wanna learn how to beat someone up?”

“ _Frank!_ ”

“I´m just trying to bond a little with the only other male figure around here,” Frank defended himself.

“What am I then, chopped liver?” Sam explained in mock-outrage. No one bothered to reply, continuing to eat instead.

There was silence then: “That´d be awesome.”

“ _Mike!_ ”

* * *

E **leven years later**

* * *

“Good morning. I don't know what terrible things you've all done up to this point in your lives but clearly your karma's out of balance to get assigned to my class. That said, here we all are. I'm Professor Annalise Keating and this is Criminal Law 100. Or, as I prefer to call it –“ Annalise picked up a red marker and wrote on the board in front while the students  were all watching, twisting their necks to see the words. Finally, she was finished and turned back to them as she reads the words aloud: “How to get away with murder.”

Annalise observed how the students were reacting to her little intro, one that she pulled every new semester and yet it was always funny to watch the various expression that were staring back at here. Some were intrigued, others looked doubtful while quite a few looked at her with scandalised expressions, as if she somehow had besmirched the sanctity of the law.

“Many of you brought your textbook,” she continued. “Don't bother. Not because you won't be tested on its content – you will – but because that's material you'll need to learn on your own time. Because this lecture? Is my time. And unlike many of my colleagues, I will NOT be teaching you how to study the law or theorize about it, but rather, how to practice it. In a courtroom. Like a real lawyer. Now, to our first case study, a past client of mine known as the Aspirin Assassin.”

She went through the case with the students, using it to get to know them better: Connor Walsh was an arrogant, cocky ass, but he had the smarts to back him up while Michaela Pratt was the definition of preppy perfectionist. Annalise wondered if the girl would burst into tears if she ever got an answer wrong. And then…

“We've established the _actus reus_ , but what was the _mens rea_? Wesley Gibbins?” Never had Annalise been prouder of her acting skills when she called up the boy she had personally taken care to get in this class. The embodiment of her greatest mistake, one that she intended to make up for. If not to Wes’ mother than at least to the boy himself.

“The _mens rea_. Right. Um...” Wes opened his textbook and started to flip through it.

“Day One and you're unprepared?” Annalise asked, her eyebrows raised.

“No. Well, yes, but... I didn't know there was anything to prepare,” Wes stammered.

“I emailed this assignment to the entire class two days ago,” Annalise remarked. She already knew why he hadn’t received it, but she couldn’t let anyone know that. It would look suspicious if she knew so much about a single student already.

“Oh. That's why,” Wes replied, relief flooding over his expression. “I didn't get that.”

“Mr. Gibbins, as a defense attorney I spend most of my time around professional liars so you're going to have to work a little harder to pull one over on me.”

“I'm not!” Wes tried to assure her. “I only got accepted here two days ago. From the waitlist. So that's probably why you didn't get my email.”

The lecture continued like that, Annalise calling her new students out, some answering her questions with bravo, others…not so much. They all peaked up, though, when she put the golden statue of Justitia on her desk.

“One more thing. Every year I choose four students to come work at the firm. I'll be using an assignment to decide who that will be. And the top student? Gets this.” She pointed at the trophy. “Consider it your immunity idol. Whoever wins it can turn it back in at any point to get out of an assignment or exam. Now get to work.” The students began to pack up and head out while Annalise watched them.

“I know you do this every year, but it´s always fun to watch.” Mike had come up to her desk, grinning wide at her.

“Is that the reason why you´re always hiding in the back row, thinking I wouldn’t notice you?” Annalise retorted with a smile on her face. She pretended to not notice how several students were suddenly a lot slower with packing up their things.

Mike just shrugged. “You never call me out on it.”

“But what are you still doing here?” Annalise wanted to know. “Shouldn’t Sam drive you to the airport right now? You can´t be late to Harvard!”

“Relax,” Mike assuaged her. “I´ll take the next flight to Boston. I just wanted to properly say goodbye to you.”

“We already did that yesterday,” Annalise pointed out.

“Well, that was yesterday,” Mike replied. “But it just isn’t the same.” One student dropped their pencil and bent down to pick it up.

“Are you all finished with pretending to not eavesdrop on my personal business?” Annalise asked annoyed. At least Michaela Pratt had the decency to look ashamed while the Walsh boy just shrugged unapologetic and bounced down the steps of the lecture hall.

When they were finally alone, Annalise turned back towards Mike and engulfed him in a fierce hug.

“I´m gonna miss you,” she admitted.

“You mean you´re gonna miss me helping you to win your cases?” Mike joked.

“That too,” Annalise agreed. She pulled back, taking in the young genius she had watched growing up under her care. Still the blonde bed-head and the piercing blue eyes, but his face had lost its baby fat and was all angles and cheekbones, with blonde five o´clock shadow marking the passage from boy- to manhood. He was still lithe and little bit gangly, but there was hidden strength underneath the graphic t-shirts and washed out jeans.

“You won´t forget to call every now and then,” Annalise reminded him.

“I won´t if you won´t send Frank to spy after me,” Mike offered.

“Deal,” Annalise agreed.

“Just don’t terrorise those poor students too much,” Mike added as he slung his bag over his shoulders.

“I won´t promise anything,” Annalise said. And then with one last wave Mike was out of the door and on his way to Harvard.

* * *

Even though it had been a few weeks already, Michaela could barely believe that she was really here, sitting in Professor Keating´s living room and helping the woman win her cases. Ok, there were also Waiting List, Gaybie, Doucheface and Laurel here, but she could live with that. She wouldn´t be here if she wasn’t used to adversity. And she was still in the possession of the golden trophy, even though Connor was catching up on her. She needed to do something about that.

“Does any of you know why we´re here?” Asher threw into the room.

“Probably because Keating´s got a new case for us,” Laurel answered, rolling her eyes at him.

“What do you think it´ll be about?” Wes asked.

“How should I know, I´m not an oracle,” Laurel retorted. “We´ll just have to wait for her to tell us.”

“Do you know what´s weird?” Connor suddenly interrupted. All heads turned to him. “There are no pictures here.” He gestured at the room. “Nothing personal, no marriage portrait, no landscapes or ‘Eat. Pray. Love.’ shit. Nothing.”

“Well, Ms Keating receives her clients here, so it´s understandable that there are no personal pictures on the walls,” Michaela pointed out. Honestly, how did Connor think of these things? Did it really matter what kind of pictures the Professor had or did not have on her walls as long as they could profit from her teaching?

“It´s weird, that’s all I´m saying,” Connor replied. “It gives me the creeps.” Laurel and Michaela both raised their eyebrows at the man simultaneously.

“Really?” Laurel said. “Do you think Professor Keating moonlights as what, some sort of serial killer?”

Before Connor could reply to her, they heard the key turning in the front door and said door opening. Craning their heads, they were expecting Professor Keating, but instead another student came into view. He looked pretty young to attend their university, but otherwise he was – at least in Michaela´s opinion – pretty unremarkable. Just another white boy.

“Who are you?” Wes asked. The other student opened his mouth, but Asher was already speaking.

“He´s obviously another student who´s aiming for our trophy,” he spat. “He´s competition and we should present a closed front so that he can´t play us against each other.” Michaela rolled her eyes (someday they would get stuck that way because Asher just had the ability to elicit that response from her).

“I´ve never seen him in our classes,” Laurel pointed out.

“Whoever you are, I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better,” Connor said, winking at the blonde.

“Thanks,” he replied, the first time he spoke since he had entered. “But you´re not my type. I like my men older and smarter than you.” That managed to shut up Connor quite quick and Michaela couldn’t help but laugh at his confused expression. Obviously finished with them, the newcomer started to take the stairs.

“Wait, you can´t go up there!” Michaela exclaimed. “That are Ms and Mr Keating´s private rooms.” She didn’t know why, but that comment made the blonde burst out in laughter,

“Actually, Ms Pratt, Mike is very welcome to go upstairs.” Michaela swirled around to see Professor Keating as well as Bonnie and Frank standing in the doorway, the former watching the scene with raised eyebrows and the latter with barely concealed amusement. “Seeing as his room is on the first floor.” Turning back to Mike she said: “Glad to have you back for the weekend.”

“So, they´re my replacement?” Mike nodded at them. “How are they faring?”

“Not quite as good as you, but not a complete catastrophe either,” Frank replied. “How´s Harvard going, champ?” Wait, that little shrimp attended Harvard? Michaela was completely confused by now.

“You can chat later,” Annalise interrupted them. “Go unpack and you two –“ she pointed at  Bonnie and Frank “- help me get them up to speed.” Mike mock-saluted and then he was already vanishing upstairs.

“Who was that?” Asher asked the question that was burning on all of their tongues.

“It´s none of your business,” Professor Keating replied. “But because I knew that you won´t leave it alone: He´s my husband and my foster-son.” Michaela wanted to sink into the ground: She had tried to prevent the Professor´s son from going into his own room. What had she been thinking?

“Woah, you tried to get into the Professor son´s pants!” Asher, praise his white douchebag soul, knew exactly how to make a situation even more awkward.

“He what?” Frank wanted to know, his demeanour suddenly a hundred times more intimidating as he turned towards Connor. Michaela wondered if Mike had meant someone like Annalise´s assistant when he spoke of older and smarter men.

“Don´t get into a pissing contest right now,” Annalise interrupted them as she came back from the other room with Bonnie, the latter carrying a stack of files. “I need them for the grunt work on this case.”

“You have a new one?” Wes spoke up.

“Obviously.”

“Oh, burn!” Asher exclaimed.

“What is it?” Laurel asked.

“Meet Gina Priscott.” Bonnie put a picture on the desk in front of them. “She worked for Grey Incorporated and claims that she was fired by its CEO for refusing his sexual advances. Mr Grey denies those allegations. We´re gonna proof him wrong.”

* * *

The wind was wafting through her hair as it made its way over the plaza that bordered the court house in New York. Whatever lawyer of Grey´s had managed to get the trial moved to Manhattan where Grey Incorporated had its headquarter instead of Philadelphia where Annalise had submitted the lawsuit had been pretty crafty, because not many lawyers were licensed to practice in more states than the ones they were operating in. Unfortunately for Grey, Annalise was able to practice in Pennsylvania and in New York. At the time it seemed prudent and Annalise didn’t regret it.

No one could run away from her.

“Is that you Annalise?” She turned around to see a woman walking up to her that Annalise wasn’t very happy to see.

 “Jessica,” Annalise nodded. “I wasn´t aware that Grey´s taken a new attorney.” Because what other reason was there for Jessica Pearson to be here right now?

They didn’t know each other that well. Corporate Manhattan and Criminal Law Philadelphia didn’t cross over very often, so Annalise had gone up against Jessica twice before (they were tied 1:1). But the world of top-class lawyers was small, so it happened more often than not that someone would bring up Annalise and Jessica as bright example how ‘everyone could make it, if they just applied themselves enough’ and how progressive they were. The fact that they could only name a few female top-lawyers of which the majority was white, spoke volumes about the truthfulness of their statements.

Jessica and Annalise were figureheads, even though they never asked for it.

“Oh, he´s one of our biggest clients,” Jessica replied. “I can´t have him being defended by some third-year associate, can I? It´d look bad for me if I actually lose this.”

“What makes you think that you won´t lose it anyway?” Annalise challenged her.

“Please, Annalise,” Jessica scoffed. “You have one woman claiming that she was sexually harassed, coming out with her claim only after she was fired. No jury is gonna believe that this isn’t about revenge.”

“Well, you have an asshole of a CEO who´ll earn no sympathy from the jury,” Annalise countered. “Just having him talk will be enough to convince them that he´s exactly the kind of man who would use his power to harass women. Besides –“ she returned Jessica´s smile “- I have the truth on my side.” That made Jessica laugh out loud.

“Please, as if that would even matter,” she remarked. In this moment a young man – impeccable suit, tailored if Annalise had to guess, but with way too much gel in his hair – came sprinting towards Jessica with a folder under his arm.

“Annalise, let me introduce you to Harvey,” Jessica spoke. “Harvey, this is Annalise Keating, someone you won´t go up against until you´re at least Senior Partner at the firm.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Keating,” Harvey greeted her and offered his hand.

“So, you´re Jessica´s new puppy?” Annalise remarked as she shook his hand. Harvey´s brows furrowed in confusion. “They get younger every time.”

“Maybe you´re just getting older,” Harvey retorted. Tense silence settled over the three of them, before Annalise broke it with her laughter.

“I like you,” she told Harvey. “At least you´ve got spine, unlike the last one.”

“Don´t remind me,” Jessica sighed, rubbing her temples as if the memories alone were hurting her.

“If you ever get tired of kissing rich and entitled CEOs’ asses give me a call,” Annalise offered Harvey.

“You barely know me for more than a minute,” the man pointed out.

“Well, Jessica has taken you on as her personal project,” Annalise replied. “That means that you must have something else to offer besides your Mad Men aesthetic.” Harvey frowned at her unhappily.

“It was nice to meet you, Annalise,” Jessica interrupted, “but we need to get going.”

“Better prep Mr Grey,” Annalise taunted. “He´ll need every bit of once I have him on the stand.”

“We´ll see,” Jessica replied. She beckoned for Harvey to follow her and then they were already making their way up the grand staircase towards the wooden entrance doors of the court house. Annalise took one last wandering gaze over the plaza before she, too, turned around.

“Annalise!” someone shouted behind her. She knew that voice all too well.

“Mike,” she greeted her foster-son as she turned around. “I thought you were sightseeing with those Harvard friend of yours?”

“I was,” Mike confirmed. “But I was thinking about your trial and suddenly it hit me: I have a way for you to win this trial!” Only now did Annalise notice the woman that was only standing a few meters away, watching them nervously.

“Meet Ms Halloway,” Mike introduced her. “She, too, worked at Grey Incorporated before she was fired for refusing Mr Grey´s unwanted sexual advances.”

“Is that true?” Annalise wanted to know. Ms Halloway nodded.

“He wanted me to…to do things to him that no woman should do to a man who isn’t her husband,” the woman admitted. “I was too ashamed to go to the police with it, but when I heard from this young man that another woman experienced the same and was actually doing something I couldn’t stand back any longer.” She squared her shoulders, her face set into an expression of grim determination. “He has to pay.”

“And he will,” Annalise promised her. “If you excuse us for a moment, Ms Halloway, but I need to talk with Mike for a moment.” She grabbed Mike´s arm and dragged him out of the woman´s earshot.

“What the hell, Mike,” she whispered at him furiously. “I don´t know if I should hug or kill you.”

“Well, considering that I just won you your case maybe the former?” Mike joked.

“How did you even manage to unearth her?” Annalise wanted to know.

“I was sightseeing with my friends, but I was thinking only about your case,” Mike started to explain. “But then it hit me: Gina probably wasn’t the first woman he harassed. Men like that…it´s in their behaviour, they don´t just do it to one woman only. So I called Bonnie and Frank and had them go through the files again, looking for women around Gina´s age who were also fired on flimsy grounds. We called them up and Ms Halloway was the first woman who confirmed my suspicion. It was quite a race to get her here in time, but I managed it. Bonnie and Frank are still calling up the other women.”

“Did I ever tell you what a genius you are?” Annalise exclaimed. “Jessica´s gonna eat dirt!” This time she did hug Mike. “I need to get to court, but I´ll invite you out for dinner once I´ve won this.” Mike nodded and then Annalise was already turning around, renewed energy in every of her steps.

“Ms Halloway, please follow me. Today we´re gonna make another dirtbag pay.”

* * *

Mike watched his foster-mom vanishing inside the courthouse with a fond smile on his face. It always felt good to help her win a case, even more so when her clients were actually telling the truth.

Gazing at his watch, Mike sighed. His friends were probably already on the ferry to Ellis Island, so he wouldn’t be able to catch up with them until they came back in a few hours. They would send him a message once they were back, so until then he would have the time for himself.

After sprinting through half of New York to get Ms Halloway to the court house Mike wasn’t really in the mood for walking, so he sat down on a nearby bench, pulled out the book he was currently perusing and started to read under the rays of the summer sun.

“Is here still free?” Mike looked up from his book to notice a young man standing next to the bench he was sitting on, pointing at the side Mike wasn’t occupying. As he looked around Mike noticed that nearly an hour had passed and that all the other benches around the plaza were occupied.

“Of course,” he told the man who let himself fall ungraciously on the bench.

“Hard day?” Mike asked. Even though the man looked stressed and worn-out, it didn’t hide the fact that he wasn’t really difficult to look at. A striking face with deep-brown eyes, a very well-fitting suit which accented a honed body that even the man´s slouched posture couldn’t conceal.

“Yeah, you could say so,” the man replied.

“You´re working there?” Mike continued to inquire, nodding towards the court house.

“Ah, not exactly,” the man answered. “I´m a lawyer and my client´s trial´s today.”

“What field?” Mike wanted to know, his interest piqued.

“Corporate,” the lawyer told him. “But we also handle private stuff for our bigger clients.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Which blew up spectacularly in our face today.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Mike tried to cheer the other man up.

“The opposing council pulled a new witness out of nowhere which totally sunk our defence strategy to the ground of the ocean,” the man retorted. Mike winced. Then, as the other man´s word sank in, his jaw dropped.

“You´re Grey´s council?” Mike asked. “You must be quite good to handle such a big case.” The lawyer´s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“How would you know anything about that?”

“Well, my foster mom is your opposing council,” Mike admitted. “Relax,” he added when he saw the other man´s posture tensing. “She didn’t send me here to spy or something. She doesn’t do that.” Well, not when she was already winning the case anyway, but it was properly better to omit that particular sentiment.

“It was me, though, who got her that new witness,” Mike couldn’t help but brag, though.

“So you´re the reason why Jessica had to ask for a recess?” the lawyer wanted to know.

“I live to serve.” Mike mock-bowed.

“Just be glad that she´s too busy to work Grey over for being a stupid, horny old man who couldn’t keep it in his pants,” the man replied, smiling wryly.

“After screwing over your case, I think I should at least know your name,” Mike spoke.

“Harvey Specter,” the man introduced himself. “Junior Partner at Pearson Hardman. And Jessica Pearson´s personal associate.”

“Mike Ross,” Mike returned. “And man, Pearson Hardman? That´s awesome!”

“Not many people outside of certain circles know of it.”

“Well, my foster mom and your boss are both strong-willed, successful, black, female lawyers and while it´s gotten better over the last few years there still aren’t many of those, so you kinda keep track of those that pop up on important cases or in journals,” Mike told him. “What your boss did to win the Peterson trial had me momentarily fall in love with her.”

“Yeah, Jessica has that effect on people,” Harvey conceded. “So, you´re a law enthusiastic?”

“Law enthusiastic?” Mike scoffed. “I´ll have you know that I´m actually studying law.”

“You?!” Harvey snickered. “You´re, like, sixteen or something.”

“I´m turning twenty this year,” Mike corrected him. “I skipped a few classes.”

“So, where do you study?” Harvey asked, obviously just humouring Mike.

“First year student at Harvard,” Mike proclaimed proudly.

“No way!” Harvey exclaimed in disbelief. “They´d never allow a teenager on campus.”

“Again, I´m a legal adult,” Mike pointed out. “And whether you believe me or not doesn’t change the fact that I am, indeed, a student at Harvard.”

“How did you get in?” Harvey wanted to know. “I had to work my ass off just to attend.”

“What if I told you I consume knowledge like no one you´ve ever met?” Mike boasted.

“I´d say you´re full of crap,” Harvey shot back without missing a beat.

“Ask me something law related. Anything.”

 “Civil liability associated with agency is based on several factors, including-“ Harvey began.

“Including the deviation of the agent from his path, the reasonable interference of agency on behalf of the plaintiff and the nature of the damages themselves,” Mike finished the sentence.

“How did you know that?” Harvey asked shocked.

“I learned it,” Mike answered cheekily. “At Harvard.”

“Okay, hotshot,” Harvey said, Mike feeling a thrill of anticipation cursing through him like he hadn’t felt in years. “I´m gonna show you what a real Harvard attorney can do. Pick a topic.”

“Stock option backdating.”

“Although backdating options is legal, violations arose related to disclosures under RIC section 409A,” Harvey recited.

“You forgot about Sarbanes-Oxley,” Mike commented.

“The statute of limitations renders Sarbanes-Oxley mute post-2007,” Harvey replied.

“Well, not if you can find actions to cover up the violation as established in the Sixth Circuit May 2008.” Harvey looked impressed and somehow that made Mike feel quite proud. How odd, he had barely spent half an hour with the man and he was already eliciting such emotions from Mike.

“I´m impressed,” Harvey admitted. “But why are you here in New York and not in Boston?”

“I came with a few friends of mine for a weekend trip, but they then decided to extend the trip until today,” Mike replied. “I only agreed because I knew that the Grey trial was today.”

“They´re either really stupid or brave to skip classes,” Harvey remarked. “You, too.”

“I´m pretty confident that I´ll manage nevertheless,” Mike assured the other man. Harvey was about to say something, but then his mobile rang. He pulled it out of his suit jacket and sighed.

“Recess is over,” he told Mike. “I´ve gotta head back in.”

“Wait!” Mike exclaimed. He jumped up and took the phone out of Harvey´s hand. A few moments later his number was saved in Harvey´s contacts.

“If you ever want to continue our discussion,” Mike explained cheekily. Harvey just shook his head, but the fond smile on his face betrayed that he wasn’t that put off by the notion.

“Now go on and loose as graciously as you can!” Mike shouted after him. Harvey just flipped him his finger.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are love <3


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